If you could go on a road trip with Flanigan anywhere in the world, where would you go?
Fleeing dirty, gun-clad, and bespectacled through ______ to the ancient city of _____, where we'll meet with our contact who can get us out of the country via a secret network of underground tunnels and treacherous mountain paths to the camouflaged helipad, before our pursuers can catch us with the stolen artifacts.
Alternately, I've always wanted to drive from Denver to Mexico City... to leave everything behind me and enter a new and unknown phase of things. Joe can come along if he wants.
He'd probably ditch me once we got there, though. Or just my luck we'd be shot by drug lords or cops on the take, and I'd have to cradle his bleeding head in my hands while fighting off the slow-acting poison (I only have 20 more hours to find the antidote) while staring into the burning sun and shouting Noooooo!!! Then I'd have to bind his wounds with bandages torn from his shirt with my teeth and my shaking, bloody hands, and drag him while he moans the name of his beloved wife and sons (for he is delirious and semi-conscious from pain and the aforementioned slow-acting poison) to the arroyo. Where I'd have to leave him, to find the green-eyed brujo I met once in Yerbabuena, and together we would heal him with sex and the venom of a rare and beautiful snake, a little-seen denizen of the local subtropical coniferous forest.
That depends... how much do you know about mesoamerican hieroglyphs? And/or, can you wield a maquahuitl? How about a margarita? We could use a good mixologist.
I can wield a baseball bat and make a mean gin and tonic; that's a start, right? As for the hieroglyphs, they can't be much more difficult to decipher than my own hand-writing.
You're hired! Unfortunately, we can only pay you in Mr. Pibb and moonpies. Joe bet all the money from our last "cultural acquisition" on a crock horse called Handsome Devil and lost. (We were banned from the racetrack that day for an incident with a female jockey, a pineapple, and a riding crop... good times.) But I've heard some scuttlebutt about a recently unearthed tomb on the Donggou River. The locals are saying it's cursed. I think it's just a coverup by the communist government, and may actually be the secret HQ for the illegal trafficking in Soviet nuclear warheads with North Korea. I know a few people who would pay good money for proof.
What do you say? Are you in?
We'll have to crash Joe's Labor Day picnic and whisk him away on the first flight to Shanghai. From there, we'll take a junk upriver Zhenjiang to meet our first contact. We'll wing it from there.
Pack your baseball bat and lo han coins. Oh, and those little umbrellas to put in our drinks. I like those.
a junk upriver TO Zhenjiang. See, this is what happens when I stay up all night polishing my Mwana Pwo. (That's not a euphemism.) I start dropping prepositions all over the place!
Meh, I've accepted worse deals. This will look great on my CV, I'll get to see the world, and judging by our first mission plan, it sounds like I might finally find the weapon-grade plutonium I need for, uh, science. I'm in.
And I'd never travel anywhere without drink umbrellas. What kind of sub-par henchman do you think I am?
please tell me ONE of you is writing the treatment for this, and submitting it as J-Flan's new television vehicle? 'Cause, MAN, would I ever pay to watch this!
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momijizukamori
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Jump in, ain't no sin - take a ride in my machine...
Bonus Question: If you could go on a road trip with Flanigan anywhere in the world, where would you go?
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Fleeing dirty, gun-clad, and bespectacled through ______ to the ancient city of _____, where we'll meet with our contact who can get us out of the country via a secret network of underground tunnels and treacherous mountain paths to the camouflaged helipad, before our pursuers can catch us with the stolen artifacts.
Alternately, I've always wanted to drive from Denver to Mexico City... to leave everything behind me and enter a new and unknown phase of things. Joe can come along if he wants.
He'd probably ditch me once we got there, though. Or just my luck we'd be shot by drug lords or cops on the take, and I'd have to cradle his bleeding head in my hands while fighting off the slow-acting poison (I only have 20 more hours to find the antidote) while staring into the burning sun and shouting Noooooo!!! Then I'd have to bind his wounds with bandages torn from his shirt with my teeth and my shaking, bloody hands, and drag him while he moans the name of his beloved wife and sons (for he is delirious and semi-conscious from pain and the aforementioned slow-acting poison) to the arroyo. Where I'd have to leave him, to find the green-eyed brujo I met once in Yerbabuena, and together we would heal him with sex and the venom of a rare and beautiful snake, a little-seen denizen of the local subtropical coniferous forest.
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...
...
Can I come with you?
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What do you say? Are you in?
We'll have to crash Joe's Labor Day picnic and whisk him away on the first flight to Shanghai. From there, we'll take a junk upriver Zhenjiang to meet our first contact. We'll wing it from there.
Pack your baseball bat and lo han coins. Oh, and those little umbrellas to put in our drinks. I like those.
no subject
no subject
And I'd never travel anywhere without drink umbrellas. What kind of sub-par henchman do you think I am?
no subject
please tell me ONE of you is writing the treatment for this, and submitting it as J-Flan's new television vehicle? 'Cause, MAN, would I ever pay to watch this!
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Uh ... straight to the next motel? ;-)
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Answer to above question: All the Way!
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In Answer to this question, where ever his little heart desires or where my heart desires..... hmmmm could wind up in a might of trouble.